


Jamison Fawkes, Vampire Hunter

by Gnomeskillet



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Dark Comedy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, Gore, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Swearing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, more to be added as they become relevant, slow to medium burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2018-10-11 11:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10464243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnomeskillet/pseuds/Gnomeskillet
Summary: When he was young, Jamison Fawkes was taken in by a vampire hunter known as Roadhog. After some 20 years in the business, he thought he had it all figured out. He'd seen the atrocities and cruelties his prey liked to indulge in first hand, so putting the filthy bloodsuckers to death seemed not only reasonable, but it was practically a noble pursuit. The morality was simple; he was minimizing human suffering and death, one vampire at a time.A chance encounter with a strange, pacifistic vampire makes his world a little more complicated than he'd like. Especially because the bloody bastard is so damn easy to get along with.





	1. Like Buffy, only with more explosions

Hunting vampires wasn’t all exciting midnight chases and bloody, violent fights for your life. Sometimes, it was sifting through 20 different local news sites, looking for an increase in missing persons cases or violent muggings. Sometimes, it was long stake-outs outside of opulent mansions, waiting for some rich douchebag to make the wrong (or right, depending on your perspective) move. This time, it meant playing Rent-A-Cop and spending all night glaring at a fuzzy monitor because some local blood bank reported a series of mysterious thefts.

Hey, no one said that hunting vampires was glamorous. Okay, maybe Blade or Buffy the Vampire Slayer _implied_ it, but those were just works of fiction. There was none of that… touch of destiny bullshit going on, either. Jamison Fawkes was many things, but he sure wasn’t any Chosen One; at best, he considered himself an unlucky bastard with a chip on his shoulder and a vendetta against the ones who ruined his childhood, plain and simple.

No, there wasn’t any destiny in it, and there certainly wasn’t any glamor. Fame, fortune, steamy romance; none of that nonsense ever factored into hunting. In fact, you tell the average person you’re a vampire hunter, and they laugh in your face. The occasional daring rescues were worth some outpouring of gratitude, it was true, but all in all, vampire hunting was a thankless task.

That wasn’t why Jamison Fawkes, code name Junkrat, did it. Sure, it would be _nice_ to be world famous, have beautiful men and women throwing themselves and piles of cash at his feet, but when it got down to it, it was the thrill of the fight and the satisfaction of knowing there was one less blood sucker roaming the streets that kept him going. It was about _vengeance,_ and when the opportunity arose, the gratuitous destruction of someone else’s property.

And as much as he hated playing civilian, blood bank jobs _always_ ended with a kill. So he sucked it up, put on his most winning smile, and chatted up skeptical nurses until they gave in and let him don a security guard uniform.

That was nearly a whole week ago.

Now, most of the time, the bloody vamps didn’t care much about ethics or human lives. They only raided blood banks if the hunting was bad, if the cops were getting too close for comfort, or if they were just weak little pissers to begin with. Sure, every now and then, you’d get some kind of bleeding heart philosopher, but they didn’t last very long on their own. So in addition to blood thefts, there was usually an assortment of violent crimes or missing people just as a side effect of there being vampires in the area.

This time…. Well, Jamison really didn’t get it.

There was a general _decrease_ in violent crimes in the area, missing people turned up shaken, but not stirred and otherwise mostly unharmed, and well. All the blood that was stolen from the bank was technically being paid for via anonymous donation within a day or so of a theft. At rates well above market price, for that matter. If Jamison didn’t know any better, he’d think they were dealing with a _benevolent_ blood sucker, which was fucking ridiculous because everyone knew _those_ didn’t exist. All vampires were violent predators, and this one was no different, even if all the evidence pointed to the contrary.

Well, benevolent or not, Jamison was getting pretty fucking sick of sitting around a blood bank all week, staring into fuzzy CCT monitors, wasting his time, and it would be nice if _the fucking drongo would show its goddamn face!_ Like sheesh, Jamison knew the job required patience, but he could only sit still for so long before he started to get antsy. This stupid bastard was taking forever; most vampires would have raided the place by now, he was sure of it.

Scowling to himself and grumbling his discontent, Jamison drummed his fingers against the desk. Roadhog sat next to him, bathed in the greenish glow of the security monitors, unmoving. His attention was completely focused on the screens, taking in all the details and not letting Jamison’s fidgeting distract him. Roadhog - Mako Rutledge - had been hunting vampires longer than Jamison had been alive and was a real professional about it. Jamison admired him greatly for his methodical patience and dedicated diligence, but, well...

“I’m gonna take a patrol,” he announced, shoving his chair away from the desk and swaggering to his feet. He couldn’t take sitting around a moment longer.

Roadie grunted in acknowledgement and nodded once, not looking away from the screens.

“Check the storage area,” he rumbled, leaning a little closer to the monitors with a frown. “There’s movement.”

“You got it, mate.” Jamison saluted before heading off, hands stuffed into his pockets and shoulders hunched. He didn’t think he’d find anything, Roadhog’s tone wasn’t too urgent. Sometimes, things that looked like movement were just weird glitches in shitty security equipment, but hey, it didn’t hurt to check, and it gave him something more to do than wander, anyway.

As he made his way to the storage area, Jamison poked his nose into labs, clean rooms, and offices, giving them a cursory once-over in case of lurkers. There was no signs of life, but as he drew closer to the storage room, a quiet, melodic humming began to tickle his ears.

“Oi, Roadie, you might wanna c’mere,” he murmured into his radio, slowing his pace as he approached the storage room. “And bring the garlic, if yanno what I mean.”

“Got it,” the radio crackled back, and Jamison swapped it out for a taser. 50,000 volts of electricity wasn’t enough to kill a vampire, but it’d sure slow them down while Roadie grabbed their real gear from the van.

Slowly, so slowly, painfully slowly, he eased the door to the storage area open. The light from an open refrigerator illuminated the silhouette of someone tucking a blood bag into the pile in their arms, then stuffing one last bag into their mouth with a happy little chuckle.

Cheeky fucker.

As they nudged the fridge door shut with one foot, Jamison clicked on the lights, causing the vampire to flinch and freeze. Big brown eyes stared up at him from a brown face, shimmery gold make-up highlighting the vampire’s features. He, definitely a he, as pretty as he was, wore a beanie on his bald head, a black tanktop that zipped up to his chin, and baggy black pants. Twin tattoos decorated the vampire’s shoulders, purple yin and golden yang with a minus and a plus in the respective centers.

For a moment, vampire and vampire hunter stared each other down, then the vampire straightened himself up, held his head high, and shouted, “Hoo’ll heffer hayf me alife, cawher!” as he bolted towards the door.

Jaw hitting the floor in stunned disbelief, Jamison stood there and watched the vampire disappear out into the hall. “What the fuck?” he muttered under his breath as the door bounced off the wall, then he shook himself out of it, spitting out a second confused “What the fuck?!” as he gave chase.

The door slammed shut just as Jamison reached it, and his nose crunched ominously as he slammed bodily into it, unable to stop himself in time. Fucking christ, just what he needed right now, a bloody nose. He swore fluently under his breath as he ripped the door open.

“Roadie, we’ve got a runner!” he shouted into his radio, tightening his grip on the taser. He quickened his pace, trying to close the distance between himself and the retreating blood sucker, but - wait - was that...?

It was.

In his free hand, the bloody bastard held a cell phone, and it was playing _Yakety Sax_ . The goddamn vampire was playing fucking **_Yakety Sax_ ** while running for his life. What kind of smartass did he think he was?

“Are you fucking _serious_ right now, mate?” he asked, his brow furrowing as the vampire threw a grin over his shoulder and around the blood bag. Letting out a growl of frustration, Jamison raised his taser, taking a shot at the vampire’s back. “I got news for you, trash heap! You’re not _cute_!”

The shot should have hit him square between the shoulder blades, but the vampire swiftly dodged to the side, his feet lifting off the ground as he turned. For a moment, he simply floated there, then he let out a muffled laugh, flashing a peace sign at Jamison before _fucking flying off_. Oh sure, he was only a foot off the ground, but-

“Cheating! That’s fucking cheating, mate!” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the retreating figure. The vampire laughed again, a warm, rich sound that made Jamison’s heart flutter strangely, which in turn added more fuel to the fire of his anger. Snarling loudly, he grabbed his radio, all but screaming into it, “Roadie, mate, where the fuck are you? He’s gonna get away!”

“Stall him,” Roadhog grunted back, sounding distracted and unconcerned even with all the radio static. “You have traps.”

“Oh.” That drew Jamison up short. He looked down at himself, at the pouches strapped to his belt, and felt slightly foolish. “Right. I _do_ have traps!”

As Jamison went through his pouches, the vampire paused his retreat, turning around mid-air to face Junkrat. He tilted his head to the side curiously, giving the blood bag in his mouth a squeeze, like a kid squeezing the yogurt out of a Go-Gurt tube. It’d be cute, maybe, probably, just a little bit, if he wasn’t drinking human blood. Or if his eyes didn’t light up bright red as he fed.

“Here, catch,” Jamison chirped, pulling a disk a little bigger around than a grapefruit from a pouch and tossing it towards the hovering vampire. The stupid blood sucker actually caught it, snatching it from the air easily. He inspected it intently, turning it this way and that as Jamison pulled the trigger out from a different pouch. He waited until the vampire held the disk up near his face, then slammed his thumb down on the trigger, cackling cruelly as the mine exploded, spraying the vampire with holy water.

The vampire crashed to the ground with a yelp, blood bags scattering around him as the skin of his head, shoulders, and neck sizzled and hissed as if he’d just been sprayed with acid. He let out a low moan of pain as he rolled to his side, curling in on himself, desperately sucking at the blood bag he still held in his mouth. It was probably the only thing keeping him conscious right now.

“Man, I cannot BELIEVE how trusting you are, mate!” Jamison laughed as he sauntered forward, hands held out, and smirk on his face. “I mean, you gotta know I’m here to kill ya, bloody bottom feeder, I know you heard me talking about traps.”

“Ha!” Jamison threw his head back, rolling his eyes with a grin as he squatted down next to the fallen vampire. “Seriously, dunno what you were thinkin’ when you grabbed that, drongo. There was no way it wasn’t gonna blow up in your face.”

The vampire sighed as Jamison giggled at his own pun, pulling the mostly empty blood bag from his mouth as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. His once pretty face was marred by ugly white streaks, the scars left by the spray of holy water, and big brown eyes looked up at Jamison sadly. No, not sadly. Disappointedly.

A little bit of guilt tugged at Jamison gut, but he shoved it aside. Why should he feel guilty for fucking up some damn vampire’s face? He was going to kill him in a minute, just as soon as Roadie showed up with the heavy duty gear. After all, he was only talking in the first place to stall for time.

Well, that, and he felt a bit of sadistic pleasure watching his prey squirm, but that was besides the point.

“I was hoping we could resolve this peacefully,” the vampire murmured, his voice surprisingly deep, rich, and smooth, like Swiss chocolate. Of course, that was probably vampiric hypnosis talking, but damn, Jamison’s heart did all kinds of funny things at the sound of it. “It truly is a shame that we cannot.”

“Whu-” was all Jamison got before a foot slammed into his face hard enough to send him flying down the hall. He didn’t just bounce when he hit the wall; the drywall crumbled beneath his body and the world went fuzzy and black around the edges. His vision swam as a voice roared out “JAMIE,” a large figure taking up the far end of the hallway.

“‘Bout time you showed up, ya big lug,” he muttered, just before he passed completely out.

He came to to the feeling of Roadhog’s thick arm sliding around his back, lifting him up. As the world came back into focus, he was greeted by Roadhog’s dark eyes glowering at him with concern, his mouth set in an unhappy line. One of the overhead fluorescent lights flickered behind his head, the rest of the hall seeming strangely dark.

“Ugh, what happened?” Jamison asked as he pushed himself more upright, one hand coming up to clutch his head as the world spun yet again.

“Got away,” Roadhog grunted, pulling away from Jamison and getting to his feet, still scowling worriedly at his partner. He wanted to fuss, Jamison knew, but he _hated_ being fussed over, especially after hearing such bad news. “Be careful. Could have a concussion.”

“Concussion my ass,” Jamison growled, staggering to his feet and taking in the hallway properly. Holes and stakes filled the walls, one of the overhead lights was dangling from the ceiling, slowly swinging back and forth through the air. After a moment or two, the thin cable holding it up finally snapped and it fell to the floor with a resounding crash, causing Jamison to cringe and Roadhog to purse his lips and raise his eyebrows.

“Well,” Jamison observed, straightening up and putting his hands on his hips. “That’s gonna come out of our paychecks.”


	2. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” Jamison intoned, starting the phone call like he’d started many others just like it. It wasn’t a confession, not a proper traditional one like you’d think. It was really much more of a… status report. A little update for the guy in charge, who was thousands of miles away, and, consequently, could not throttle him through the phone.

 “What did you do _this time_ , Junkrat?” Father Reyes replied, his raspy voice little more than a growl. Father Gabriel Reyes’ emotional spectrum existed solely as various shades of rage, complemented only by tiredness and spite.

 Today, Jamison reckoned Reyes was pretty sitting somewhere around exasperated, which gave him plenty of room to blow off some of his own frustration.

 “Father, I’m _hurt,_ ” he simpered, touching a hand to his chest even though Reyes couldn’t see it. He was an expressive talker, what of it? “I’ve barely even said hello, and you’re already accusing me of ‘doing something.’ Don’t you have any faith in me, Father? Me, your faithful, hardworking, diligent, intelligent-”

 “You only ever call me to tell me what you’ve done, Junkrat,” Reyes cut him off, a tinge of irritation creeping into his voice. “That’s the whole point of these phone calls. To tell me what you’ve done. So get with the program and start telling me what you’ve done.”

 “Well, all right, but you don’t have to be so accusatory,” Jamison huffed, putting one hand on his hip and cocking it to the side. “You make it sound like I’ve gone and blown something up.”

 The “again” went unsaid. It didn’t need to be said.

 “Well, did you?”

 “No!” He paused, letting the dramatic tension build. “Roadie trashed the blood bank, though.”

 Across the room, Roadhog’s head shot up from where he was focusing on paperwork. Jamison couldn’t see him, he had his back to him, but he could feel the intensity of his glare boring into his back. Only a heartbeat passed between the moment the words slipped out of his mouth and Reyes’ reply, but Jamison broke out into a cold sweat and knew his death would soon be upon him if he didn’t think very carefully about what he said next.

 “Did he?”

 “I-I was kind of unconscious at the time,” he replied weakly, his eyes darting back towards Roadhog, then towards the door. If Roadie got _really_ mad, could he make his escape in time? “It-it could have been the vampire, I don’t know, Roadie’s filling out the damage report right now, and did I mention I was unconscious at the time?”

 The groan that emanated from the phone was long, but quiet. It spoke volumes about headaches, ulcers, and sleepless nights spent worrying over the budget. It sang of endless face-palming, exasperated sighs, and muttered oaths.

 Partly, because, well… Reyes followed the groan up with plenty of sighing and muttering, and Jamison could just see him pinching the bridge of his nose in his mind’s eyes.

 “Okay,” he began with all the enthusiasm of a parent with twelve unruly sons. In a way, he did have twelve unruly sons, and they were all condensed into the living trainwreck that was codenamed Junkrat. “I’ll bite. _Why_ were you unconscious?”

 “Weeeeeell...” Jamison rubbed the back of his neck, turning to look at Roadhog. Roadie’s glare had simmered down from “imminent death” to “cuff on the head,” which was an acceptable level of violence, so Jamison shrugged and flung his hand out to the side. “The bloody vamp kicked me inna head.”

 “He kicked you in the head.”

 “Yeah.” He nodded, raising his eyebrows as if he couldn’t believe that Reyes would ever doubt him. Why would he lie about this? “Hard enough to send me flying into the wall.”

 Father Reyes took a deep breath. He was probably counting to ten and saying a silent prayer to the Lord Above for patience. “Okay, why don’t you start at the beginning?”

 “Oh sure,” Jamison agreed easily, snickering to himself as he crossed the room and leaned against Roadie, half-draping himself across the big man’s shoulders. “It all started when I was six years old…”

 “The beginning of the encounter, Junkrat!” Reyes snapped, his voice going weirdly distorted. It happened sometimes, when he was really mad, like he was speaking through a fan. It was weird, but it sounded fantastically creepy, so naturally, it was the reason Jamison worked so hard to rile Father Reyes up.

 “Ooooh, spooky voice, I love it!” he giggled, turning so that his elbows rested on Roadhog’s shoulder, bouncing lightly on his toes. “Alright, since you did the voice, I’ll behave.”

 “Finally…” Reyes grumbled, remnants of the strange distortion still tainting his voice.

 With one last chortle to himself, Jamison began describing the events of the night in exhausting detail, partially because it exasperated Father Reyes, partially because he had an eidetic memory and he could _do_ that. As he talked, he climbed all over Roadhog, who tolerated it stoically. It was only when Jamison tried to get into his lap, and therefore got in the way of his work, that Roadhog got annoyed.

Wrapping his hands around Jamison’s waist, Roadhog picked him up and tossed him towards the beds, watching in satisfaction as Jamison hit the mattress, bounced twice, then went tumbling to the floor on the other side, all without missing a word of his conversation.

 After a minute or two, Jamison emerged from between the beds and started stripping down to his underwear, then pulled on a pair of ratty cargo shorts that were made up of more patches than fabric. With his cellphone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, he patted down the pockets until he found a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes.

 “And that’s when I passed out,” he finished proudly, poking open the pack of cigarettes and squinting inside. Two sticks left. Fabulous. “When I came to, the blood sucker was gone, the place was trashed, and Roadie was peeling me off the floor.

 There was a moment of silence as Father Reyes mulled over the report, taking in and analyzing all the information Jamison gave him. It was always an overabundance of information, but if Father Reyes was being honest with himself, he preferred it to Roadhog’s brief, one sentence summaries and need for constant prompting. Jamison never left anything out, something that never ceased to amaze Father Reyes, given the man’s fidgetiness, and poor attention span.

 When he finally spoke, all he said was “Give the phone to Roadhog.”

 At that, Jamison, who had fished out a cigarette, tucked it behind his ear, and groaned. “Aow, you know he hates doing oral reports, s’why he has me.”

 “You can’t report on events you weren’t conscious for.”

 “Sure I can,” Jamison snorted, tilting his head to the side and stuffing a finger in his ear, waggling it around. He wrinkled his nose up as he checked it, then brushed whatever bits were on it onto his shorts. “I just can’t promise it’ll be 100% factual.”

 “Well, that’s the funny thing about reports,” Reyes retorted, an eyeroll in his tone. “They’re no good to me if they’re not 100% factual. So. Give Roadhog. The phone.”

 Euyugh, Father Reyes was _enunciating_ at him. “I’ll give it to him if you do the voice again.”

 “Junkrat, focus!” Reyes snapped, but there was just a hint of static in his voice, which was good enough for Jamison. For all his anger and surliness, Father Reyes was a good guy at heart, and he never minded indulging Jamison’s more harmless requests. He was practically a second father figure, as far as Jamison was concerned.

 Speaking of-

 “Your boyfriend wants to talk to you,” he chirped sweetly, holding out his phone to Roadhog, batting his eyes as if he was the most innocent thing in town.

 Roadie gave him A Look for his cheekiness, then took the phone in one hand, waving Jamison off with the other. Jamison waggled his fingers at him, then headed outside. Roadie didn’t approve of his smoking, but he was 26 years old now. He was old enough to make his own decisions, and as long as he went outside to light up, Roadie didn’t do much besides scowl at him disapprovingly.

 There was silence as he crossed the room, but as soon as Jamison got the door open, he heard Roadhog shift and casually croon, “Hey baby, what’re you wearing?”

 Father Reyes was probably blowing a gasket, but Junkrat just about died of laughter as he stepped out onto the balcony of their room. It was a rare occasion that Roadhog went along with his shit, but when he did, boy, was it magical.

 ---

 Up on the rooftop, Zenyatta sat with one foot tucked under his thigh, his injured leg dangling over the ledge, sipping blood from a bag like it was a Capri Sun. After making his escape, after stashing his reclaimed blood bags in his apartment, after pulling a stake from the back of his leg and bandaging the wound, he tracked the vampire hunters to the hotel where they were staying.

 He should have stayed home. The sun was rising soon, and between the fight and his injuries, he was exhausted and needed to rest.

 But he needed to know if it was safe.

 So he sat on the roof of their hotel, lazily swinging his foot back and forth. He listened carefully as they talked, as they discussed the evening and how to they would proceed. He listened as they failed to come to an agreement, and contacted someone else. He smiled around the straw as the lilting, expressive voice of the tall, chatty blond teased the priest on the other end.

 By the time the phone switched hands and the blond vampire hunter - Jamie, the larger one had called him - left the hotel room laughing, Zenyatta found himself charmed.

 Another vampire would have killed the hunter where he stood for what he did. Another vampire would have sought revenge. No amount of blood, fresh or otherwise, would heal the scars left by the holy water bomb.

 Zenyatta understood all too well how dangerous his kind could be. He knew how cruel, petty, and vindictive they were. So many were drunk on power and consumed with hunger that they lost sight of who they used to be. Perhaps it was because of his young age - he’d been a vampire for little less than a year - but Zenyatta was determined to hold on to his humanity. He couldn’t hold the vampire hunter’s actions against him; not without introducing himself first.


	3. What the fuck?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some descriptions of blood and gore in it. Being a horror movie fan, my tolerance for it is pretty high, so I'm not sure if it's all that bad, but I figured a warning wouldn't hurt anyone.

“Hello there.”

Jamison screamed, dropped his cigarette, and nearly jumped out of his skin as the vampire - that bloody stupid vampire that kicked him in the face! - popped up over the railing, a warm smile on his newly scarred face. He floated gently in the air, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief, rising up enough to fold his arms over the railing, as casual as can be.

“What the fuck?!” Jamison screeched, scrambling backwards until his back hit the wall. He scrabbled against it briefly like a frightened spider as his heart pounded violently in his chest, then simply clung to it as he forced himself to breathe and calm down.

It was hard to do when the stupid, shitty vampire was laughing at him, even if he was doing it quietly. The twinkle of his eyes and the way his bow-shaped lips curved pissed him off.

“What the FUCK?!” he repeated, throwing his hands into the air, then throwing them out towards the vampire. “What’re you doing here, ya mad cunt? We tried to kill you, mate, fuck, are you stupid?”

“Yes, you did try to kill me” the vampire agreed, ducking his head slightly with a quiet laugh. “It was a very admirable attempt, but I would appreciate it if you did not do that again.”

“Not try that again?” Jamison asked incredulously, his eyebrows nearly shooting off his forehead. Not try that again? Was this guy for real? “ _ Mate. _ In case it escaped your notice the first time, I’m a vampire hunter.  **It’s my bloody fucking job to kill ya!** ”

“I know, and I appreciate that” the vampire sighed, pulling himself up and over the railing, perching on it with his feet curled up beneath him. He sounded so disappointed, so resigned, and Jamison wanted to know where he got off. Seriously, what the fuck? Just who did this bastard think he was? “But I feel we have started off on the wrong foot, and I would like to make up for it.”

The vampire leaned forward, ducking his head in a polite bow. “My name is Tekhartha Zenyatta. I am truly, deeply sorry for all the trouble I have caused.”

Jamison’s jaw hit the floor. No, it went through the floor. It went straight through the balcony, smashed through the cement sidewalk, burrowed through the Earth’s crust, mantle, and core, and exploded out the other side. It kept going off into space, where it slammed into the moon, knocking it into the sun, then it spearheaded Mars. It finally stopped when it reached Jupiter’s Great Red Spot. Not because it was done, no, not by any long shot, but only because Jamison didn’t really feel like getting rained on at the moment.

Or whatever it was that happened in Jupiter’s Great Red Spot, Jamison didn’t know, he didn’t finish high school. Too many vampires in need of killing to worry about things like maths and history and literature and hormones.

Then he threw his head back and laughed. He laughed hard enough that he started to lose his balance and had to stagger over to the balcony railing, just so he could flop over it and cling to it for dear life. Beside him, he felt the vampire - he felt  _ Zenyatta _ \- startle and pull away.

“Oh man, you had me there, mate, you really had me!” he giggled, lifting his head to grin and waggle a finger at the vampire. “You really- Man, for  _ half _ a second there, I actually believed you!”

He took a deep breath, wiping a tear from his eye as he straightened himself up, leaning one hand on the railing, cocking his hips to the side. “But it’s just onna them vampire headgames, ain’t it? You’re just trying to get me to let me guard down, play with your food a bit before you eat it, huh?”

“I- no!” the vampire had the audacity to look shocked and offended, his eyes going wide as he protested the accusation. “I have never fed from a another person, and as long as I live, I never shall.”

“Beautiful words mate, just beautiful,” Jamison drawled, shooting the vampire a smirk as he fished through his pockets for his last cigarette. He’d lost the first one in his surprise when the vampire showed up, dropped it who knows where, and he’d only been half-finished with it at the time. He felt like deserved a whole one on a night like tonight. “But yanno, you’re not the first vampire to say that.”

“I’m not?” he asked, tilting his head to the side curiously, sliding from his perch to stand closer to Jamison.

“Oh good gods mate, no!” he chirped, pulling the cigarette from its crumpled pack and bringing it up to his lips. He grinned widely, toothily, shark-like at the vampire, then wrapped his lips around the cigarette, and clicked on his lighter, never breaking eye contact. He didn’t step back, but up this close, Jamison could see the way he tensed, could see his eyes widen.

He puffed leisurely at the smoke while the vampire watched him, then once he was satisfied with the way it was lit, he turned, straightening himself out to his full height. Up close like this, he towered over the vampire. The vampire licked his lips, and up close like this, Jamison could see his pupils dilate as he tilted his head back to maintain eye contact.

He stepped forward, and the vampire stepped backwards. He stepped forward again, again, and again, until he backed the vampire up against a concrete pillar, then he boxed him in with one arm. If he was being honest with himself (and he wasn’t - he wasn’t even really all that aware of himself), he was feeling a little bit drunk on power. Here he had this undead beastie, this powerful creature of the night enthralled before him.

He should have been dead. He should have been fighting for his life. The fact that he wasn’t certainly was proof that if nothing else, the vampire believed what he said, that he could live without feeding on a person, but Jamison knew otherwise.

“Yanno how many vampires have begged me for their lives,” he crooned, pulling the cigarette from his lips and reaching up to stroke the vampire’s face, the blood sucker’s lips parting slightly as he gasped.

“‘I’m so sorry, Mr. Fawkes,’” he simpered, pushing his lips out in an exaggerated pout. “‘I never meant to hurt anybody. I just got so hungry…’”

“Pah.” he spat, abruptly turning away from the vampire and taking a couple sharp puffs of his smoke. “Them’s the worst, in my humble opinion. They sit there, acting like they’re the victim, but more often than not, you finds ‘em kneeling in gore and covered in blood, and you gotta wonder how much they actually got in their bellies.”

It made his stomach turn as he thought about it. He can recall such a scene in perfect detail, right down to the smell, and it never happened just once. It happened time and again; some scared, innocent looking fucker would try to bargain with him, the evidence of their violent meal all around them, splattering the walls and staining the ground. Blood would be in their hair and on their clothes and dripping from their mouths and the smell would be worse than a slaughterhouse...

The first couple times, he’d been reluctant to pull the trigger, but Roadhog pushed him through it. Pushed him until he could take them down without hesitation. They had to be put down before it happened again. And no matter their best intentions, it would happen again. It would always happen again.

It would happen every time the hunger became too much. It would happen when the sound of heartbeats filled their ears like drums, and they’d feast again just to relieve the noise. It would happen in a moment of weakness because by then, by god, were they weak. By then, they’d be so mad with hunger, they couldn’t hunt properly. They couldn’t control themselves.

He took a couple slow puffs from his cigarette, then Jamison ran a hand through his hair and half turned, glancing at the vampire over his shoulder. The vampire had his eyes on the ground, one hand gripping his elbow, his shoulders slumped sadly.

When he felt Jamison looking at him, the vampire raised his eyes, squaring squaring his shoulders, his brow furrowed resolutely. “They only lose control because they try to starve themselves. This is foolishness; humans may not be obligate carnivores, but they kill to eat as well, do they not? If humans do not starve themselves, so why should we?”

The vampire stood up straight, raising his chin defiantly, his voice calm and steady. “It’s true, I am never fully satisfied, but the blood that I drink, blood that has been donated  **and** paid for, it’s enough to sustain my body and my mind.”

With a roll of his eyes, Jamison reached up to rub at his temple with one hand, shaking his head slowly.  _ Vampires _ . Even the ones that insisted they were no better than humans had a superiority complex a mile long once you got them talking.

“Listen to yourself, mate,” he sighed, waving a hand at the vampire. “You’re comparing people to fucking livestock, s’what you’re doing. The only difference between you and them other vamps is that you’re eating processed food while they’re butchering their meat fresh.”

“I can’t help what I am,” the vampire insisted, moving forward and reaching out to touch Jamison’s arm. “I need to eat, I know you know that better than anybody. You’ve seen the consequences of denying the hunger, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Well, you could always die,” Jamison grinned, tilting his head back and opening his mouth to put out the remnants of his cigarette on his tongue.

The vampire’s eyebrows pinched together and he exhaled through his nose, pursing his lips together. “I understand that you are trying to intimidate me, but quite frankly, you have just crossed the line from attractively dangerous into cartoon criminal with a large side of cheese.”

“Large side of cheese?” Jamison squawked as he dropped into his usual slouch, throwing his hands out to the side. “Whaddya talking about, mate? I spent WEEKS perfecting that move so’s I wouldn’t hurt meself, it’s a totally top tier intimidation tactic!”

Now, the vampire’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead, and Jamison could tell he was fighting back a smile. “I suspect that, if you wish to maintain the illusion of strength and danger, telling someone how much time you spent practicing in order to avoid injury is not the way to do it.”

“Yeah? What would you know about being intimidating?” Jamison scoffed, scowling petulantly as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You’re a soft-spoken little pretty boy, you couldn’t intimidate your way out of a wet paper bag.”

Instead of saying anything in return, the vampire’s smile grew smug. He inclined his head as if he was conceding the point, but as he raised it once again, he rose from the ground and spread out his arms. Jamison had half a moment to appreciate the grace of the vampire’s movements before the lights around them began to flicker and six gaunt, ghastly white arms appeared in a halo around the vampire. Blood stained their fingertips and dripped from the open ends of their shoulders where bone poked through.

“Okay, that’s pretty gruesome,” Jamison conceded, his voice quavering slightly. So what if his voice shook and his heart pounded and his knees clattered together? He wasn’t intimidated. The vamp was just being creepy, that was hardly the same as being intimidating. “But-”

Suddenly, the vampire jolted forward and Jamison couldn’t help it - he screamed. He screamed and threw his arms up protectively, backpedaling wildly until he tripped over his own feet. It wasn’t until he’d finished bouncing and skidding on his butt and came to a rest that he realized all the vampire had done was lean forward, his hands spread out by his ears and stuck out his tongue.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he shouted, throwing his hand at the vampire as he laughed out loud, wrapping his arms around his stomach and curling up his legs, kicking his feet gleefully.

The vampire was just about to reply when the door to the hotel room slammed open and Roadhog stepped out, a stocking cap on his head and a pig plush tucked under one arm.

“What’re you yelling about?” he bellowed, glowering down at Jamison. A beat passed, then Jamison hesitantly raised an arm, pointing at the vampire hanging frozen in the air.

Roadhog lifted his glare, establishing eye contact with the vampire, who smiled broadly, if not nervously.

“Well, it’s been swell meeting you fine gentlemen, it really has,” he chirped, slowly drifting backwards. “But I think it’s time I left before the swelling goes down, if you catch my meaning.”

He backed up until his back hit the balcony railing, then he swung himself over it, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he disappeared over the side of the balcony. “Have a nice morning!”

For a moment, Jamison and Roadhog stared at where the vampire disappeared. They stared at each other. Then Jamison lurched to his feet, dashing madly to the railing. He hit it hard, catching himself just before he went toppling head over heels. As the vampire went streaking across the parking lot, Jamison hollered, “Zenyatta, get your blood sucking ass right back here so’s I can kill you!”

“No thank you, I’m good!”


	4. This Vampire's the Worst

“Why didn’t you just  _ kill him _ ?”

To say Roadhog was unhappy was a bit of an understatement. He hadn’t quite reached the point where he was breaking things, but the door to their room snapped back open again when he slammed it shut, which spoke volumes about just how close he was getting.

Jamison, for his part, felt he was overreacting.

“Well gee, I dunno, Roadie,” Jamison scoffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets and rolling his eyes. “Maybe it’s because the most dangerous objects I have on me person are a lighter and a pack of smokes?”

He pulled out both items and waved them pointedly in Roadhog’s face, moving closer and shoving them even more in his face when Roadhog looked away. “What’m I supposed to do with a lighter and a pack of smokes, mate? Tell me, huh, what’m I supposed to do?!”

As Roadhog failed to enlighten him, Jamison waved the items more and more intensely. Finally, Roadhog gave in with a growl and shoved Jamison away, causing him to trip over his own feet and sprawl back against the bed. “You could’a come and got me.”

“Yeah,” Jamison agreed, rolling his eyes and forcefully kicking off his boots so that they flew across the room and hit the wall. “And then he would’a scarpered, leaving us in the exact same position we are now.”

“Except…” Grinning widely, Jamison sat up, rummaging through his pockets once more. After a moment, he paused, his expression falling blank as he sat up and pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket. “Hey, Roadie, you ever hear of a place called Sucker Punch?”

“What?” Roadhog scowled, moving to take a look at the slip. Jamison held it out for him to take, and his scowl only deepened as he looked it over. It was a location, an address written beneath the name given, along with a time, a smiley face, and a Z enclosed in a heart. “Where’d this come from?”

“My pocket.” The ‘duh’ was not spoken aloud, but it was there in Jamison’s eyes and the flash of a smirk. Roadhog damn near cuffed him for his cheek, but he continued on before Roadhog could so much as pull back his hand. “That blood sucker probably slipped it in while we was posturing around. I’d wager anything that Z stands for Zenyatta, though I’d be fucked if I knew why he dropped it in a heart.”

“Zenyatta?”

“Yeah, that’s his name.” Jamison shrugged, slinging his legs over the side of the bed as he went back to digging through his pockets. “He volunteered it, and an apology for causing trouble, as if that would be all it took to save his life. Ha!”

With a roll of his eyes, Jamison wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue, his expression saying everything he felt about that. “Don’t worry, I didn’t give him mine.”

Roadhog wasn’t worried. Jamison had his moments, his forgetful, oblivious, boneheaded moments, but he knew the boy wasn’t stupid.

“Aha!” Finally, Jamison pulled what he was searching for from his pocket, holding aloft a chip that  _ could _ have been a microSD card if Roadhog didn’t know any better. “As I was going to say before we got sidetracked, while we was posturing and flitting around, I slipped that right bastard one of these little beauties.”

One of those “little beauties” was a tracking chip. They were Jamison’s very own creation, along with the phone app they broadcasted to. Although he was proud of how clever Jamison could be, Roadhog had been reluctant to adopt the technology at first, being a bit of a traditionalist when it came to vampire hunting. Still, he had to admit, they occasionally came in handy.

Especially for keeping Jamison shut up and occupied during long stake-outs. Anything that held Jamison’s attention for more than ten minutes was a fucking godsend, and he’d happily buy the boy all the electrical equipment he wanted if it meant he got some goddamn peace and quiet now and then.

He grunted in approval at the device, nodding his head once. “Sure it’s good?”

“Well, you’ve got me phone mate, pass it over and we’ll take a looksie.”

Roadhog grabbed the phone from the desk and handed it to Jamison, leaning over his shoulder as he brought up the app. A map of the city loaded up, a green dot moving across it a little bit slower than a car. Judging by the fact that it was moving in roughly a straight line, it was clear the vampire wasn’t sticking to the streets.

“There, see!” Jamison whooped, pointing excitedly at the screen and bouncing in place. “I told you I tagged him, I did! Now alls we gotta do is wait until he falls asleep and then-”

He grinned sharkishly, miming stabbing himself in the heart with a stake.

“Yeah.” Roadhog patted Jamison’s shoulder, both as a way to show his pride and calm Jamison down. “So what’s your plan?”

While Roadhog was still ostensibly in charge of their operation, he’d been giving Jamison more and more responsibility. Partially because, well, if something ever happened to Roadhog, or god forbid, he retired, Jamison would need to be able to take care of himself, but also because the boy, strangely enough, actually had the head for it.

Sure, most of his plans boiled down to “kill everything, then blow it all up to destroy the evidence,” but he blew things up  _ strategically. _ Who knew you could blow up a house in such a way that it collapsed inwards and not outwards? Who knew you could do it while making it look like a  _ complete accident _ ?

Jamison knew, that’s who. The boy would lose his own head if it wasn’t attached, but if you asked him the best way to raid a building, how to break a phalanx formation, how much food it would take to move an army of three 1000 miles, or the average flying speed of an unladen swallow, he could tell you. (He could also tell you what you had for lunch three years ago, which was a bit weird and over the top, but that was another story altogether.)

“Ehn, it’s not like he’s gonna do any harm once the sun’s fully up,” Jamison shrugged, rolling his eyes and flicking a wrist dismissively. “I figure we give it a few hours, take a nap, and then around ten or so, I’ll pop on over to whatever hidey-hole he’s curled up in, stake ‘em, then swing out for groceries.”

He glanced up from the phone, looking to Roadhog for approval. “I reckon if you get us packed while I’m taking care of business, we could be up and on the road by noon.”

For a moment, Roadhog considered the plan, going over every angle. One sleeping vampire really wasn’t a two person job; vampires fell instantly unconscious the moment the first light of sun reached the horizon, and stayed that way until the last ray of light faded from the sky. At this point, Jamison hardly needed his supervision. He was 25, well trained in hunting, and he wouldn’t hesitate to get the job done.

“Sounds good,” he replied, holding his thumb up in approval.

\---

As it turned out, Zenyatta’s hidey-hole was in a house that was converted into apartments in the nice-ish part of town. According to the mail directory on the front porch, his was the basement apartment, and it was accessible by a door off the side of the building. Very fitting for a vampire, and the blood sucker didn’t even bother to lock the door, neither, which made things very convenient for Jamison.

Now, instead of being some sketchy asshole skulking around, if anyone saw him, he’d just look like a friend stopping by.

The door opened up to a living space that looked much like you’d expect from a college-aged person: there was an ugly couch that looked liked it had been picked up on the side of the road, book shelves made of planks of wood and bricks, a laptop hooked up to a videogame console hooked up to a tv screen and video game cases scattered everywhere. The electronics looked like the most expensive things the vampire owned, and hey, Jamison had to respect that. If he lived a stable life, he’d probably prioritize electronics over everything else too.

The weird thing about the place was the decorations. Everything was weird, white people “New Age” hippie fake-Buddhist bullshit. Which, considering the yin-yang tattoo, yeah, Jamison  _ guessed _ that made sense, but considering how the guy  _ looked _ Asian, he would have thought Zenyatta could have done better.

Then again, he was a vampire, and that whole thing about crosses was about general religious belief and not tied to Christianity alone. Maybe actual Buddhist symbols made him uncomfortable, and this was as close to his religion as he could get these days.

Unconsciously, Jamison reached up for the silver cross that hung around his neck, tucked discreetly beneath his shirt. He wasn’t a devout Catholic by anyone’s definition, but he said his Hail Marys and did actual confessions with Father Reyes every couple of weeks. Even if there were things he wasn’t sure about, like whole God thing and having an immortal soul and what counted as sin, it was still comforting to know it was there. To have it as something he could fall back on if he needed to. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have all that suddenly turned against him.

Although, obviously, it wasn’t enough to make him feel  _ sorry _ for the vampire, oh  **_hell_ ** no, but it did make him a bit more conscious of his position in the world. After a moment or two of existential discomfort, he crossed himself, then dropped his hands into his pockets as he moved across the apartment. He’d call Father Reyes later and do a proper confession and maybe say a prayer over lunch, then he’d feel much better about his place beyond the pearly gates.

As he shuffled towards what was likely the bedroom, the sound of running water caught his attention and he shifted course to the bathroom. He knocked once out of habit, not really expecting a response, and when none came, he tried the doorknob. As unlocked as the front door had been. Dear lord, did this vampire not have any sense of personal security? Christ on a cracker, anyone could just come in and kill the fucker in his sleep, and he’d never know.

Haha, well, someone, namely, one Jamison Fawkes, Vampire Hunter, was going to come and kill him in his sleep, which was, quite frankly, the most ironic part of it all.

At least, he thought it was ironic.

What the fuck was irony actually anyway?

With a shrug of his shoulders, Jamison discarded his thoughts and stepped into the bathroom. It was a boring bathroom; there was a toilet, one of those combination tub/shower things, a sink, and the decoration was themed around that stupid popular yellow smiley face. Where did you even get a smiley face toothbrush, that’s what Jamison wanted to know.

No, the most interesting thing about the bathroom was the brown arm dangling over one edge of the tub, and the fact that the shower had been running long after the water had gone cold. 

When he pulled back the (unsettlingly cheery) shower curtain, yep, there he was. There lay Zenyatta, sprawled out on his back in the shower, a bottle of shower gel still clutched in one hand. Why the vampire thought he had time to shower before the sun rose, Jamison would never know, but as he stared down at the moron passed out and pruny from all the water, he couldn’t help but think that Zenyatta was probably the worst vampire he’d ever encountered. Not a trace of dignity or menace within him, really.

It was quite sad. Sad and pathetic. What a useless vampire.

Shaking his head and sighing with disappointment, Jamison leaned over and turned off the shower, then bent down to wrestle the shower gel from Zenyatta’s hand. He couldn’t kill the idiot like this. Well, he  _ could _ , but it seemed wrong, somehow. The least he could do was get him out of the shower and into some pants. It’s not like there was any risk of Zenyatta suddenly waking up and attacking him or anything like that.

He grabbed a towel from the rack, lightly patted the sleeping vampire down, then wrapped the towel around Zenyatta and scooped him up in his arms, staggering only a little bit as he lifted him from the tub. Zenyatta wasn’t  _ that _ heavy, not technically, but dead weight was dead weight, and Zenyatta’s unconscious body flopped around as bonelessly as a ragdoll. At least he didn’t have to worry about being careful; it didn’t matter how many times Jamison “accidentally” bumped Zenyatta’s head against doorframes or other obstacles, the vampire would be asleep until sundown.

If he lasted that long.

Since Jamison was going to kill him.

He kicked open the door to Zenyatta’s bedroom and stopped dead in his tracks. Okay, so his living space was New Age-y. That was understandable, given the circumstances. He could forgive that. The bathroom? A little weird, but hey, it was better than some hotels he had stayed in, he could overlook it. But Zenyatta’s bedroom?

It was like walking into Nerd Paradise.

The walls were covered in wall scrolls and posters from various video games, and the shelves were laden with figurines and comic books. He even had one of those sexy body pillows with some hunky ninja guy posed on it. That wasn’t even getting into all the  _ cosplay _ stuff lying around. Framed professional photos, brightly colored and ridiculously styled wigs, a vanity that took up half the wall space, and a craft table that took up the rest?

_ Christ. _

Jamison didn’t bother picking his jaw back up off the floor as he looked down at the sleeping vampire. Just how  _ young _ was this guy anyway? Not every vampire was hundreds of years old, Jamison knew that, but dear lord, he was starting to wonder if Zenyatta had made it past twenty.

That was a thought he didn’t need. He didn’t need it at all. In fact, he needed to stop thinking entirely and just get this over with. The more he thought about it, the less likely he’d be able to go through with things. The bloody vampire was just entirely too human in his mannerisms, and a total dweeb about it, too. If he kept this up, he was going to lose his resolve and talk himself out of it.

With a frustrated little grunt, Jamison dumped Zenyatta on the bed, turning away before the vampire hit the bed. With his luck, Zenyatta would end up looking  _ cute _ or something like that, sprawled out on the bed and harmless. Best to just grab some underwear and…

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck a duck, Zenyatta’s underwear drawer was filled with  _ novelty boxers, _ of all things. When he pulled it open, the top pair were blue and covered in peace signs. Beneath them were fucking  _ Spongebob _ boxers. Look, this pair? This bloody pair?  _ More of those goddamn smiley faces. _ And this pai-NOPE.

Jamison squawked and dropped the underwear, slamming the drawer shut and leaping back as if there was a bomb inside, staring down in horror at the offending lacy red number. Why did Zenyatta even  _ have something like  that? _

He was done. He was just done. The boxers with the peace signs would just have to do. Zenyatta would just have to  **die** in his own stupid, goofy, embarrassing underwear. Jamison roughly yanked the boxers up Zenyatta’s legs, threw Zenyatta’s hands out of the way of his chest, grabbed the wooden stake strapped to his calf, and stopped, his hand raised in the air, ready to take the final plunge.

He couldn’t do it.

There wasn’t anything particularly cute about the way Zenyatta looked, but his expression was peaceful, and aside from the scars Jamison had given him just the night before, his face was speckled with all the pockmarks and acne scars of a person. Zenyatta even had dark circles beneath his eyes. His skin had only seemed flawless before because of all the makeup he wore. And though his arms and shoulders seemed toned, Jamison could see the hint of Zenyatta’s rib cage and hip bones.

The vampire wasn’t eating properly. He wasn’t  _ starving _ , Jamison was pretty sure, but if he was feeding on fresh, proper blood, he’d be in better shape than this. The vampire hadn’t lied - he really hadn’t ever fed from another person.

Jamison felt his mouth go dry and he swallowed thickly as he lowered his hand. He shouldn’t- he shouldn’t be a bleeding heart about this. He should kill the vampire and leave. Just because Zenyatta hadn’t eaten anyone yet didn’t mean he wouldn’t ever. Roadhog had practically beaten that lesson into his head.

But.

But what kind of deadly vampire played video games, or did cosplay, or fell asleep in the fucking shower? Zenyatta really was straight up shit about being intimidating or even remotely threatening. He was, if anything,  _ a huge nerd. _

With a sigh, Jamison dropped down onto the edge of the bed, putting away the stake and dropping his head into his hands. This was- Honestly, he hadn’t felt this conflicted about a vampire since what… his first kill? He knew, he  _ knew _ , he  **_knew_ ** Zenyatta had to die, why couldn’t he bring himself to do it? He whined in frustration, tugging at his hair and scrunching his face up tight, then gasped as a thought occurred to him.

He had- he scrabbled at his pockets, trying to find the right one- he more trackers, a whole handful of them, even! He could just bug the vampire to Hell and back, and uh… keep an eye on him, yeah! If he ever caught Zenyatta in a location where a lot of vampire flags went up, then by George, he could just nip on down and take the vampire out! It was brilliant, and Roadie didn’t even have to know.

Plan firmly in mind, Jamison leaped to his feet and poked around the room, ferreting out every bag and case he could get his hands on, anything Zenyatta would take with him for sure when he bugged out. And though he might’ve looked down his nose at that craft table when he first walked in, it was a blessing when it came to hiding the trackers; the damn thing had just about every kind of glue, tool, and fabric he needed to make sure the trackers wouldn’t be found.

When he finished, he put everything back where he found it, then plopped down onto the bed again, pulling out his cellphone. The trackers had to be paired to the app, and labelled, and then, well...

Might as well see what kind club this “Sucker Punch” was anyway. It wasn’t like he got out much, he was too busy working. Maybe taking a night off would be good for him.

He punched in the location, and as the web page for the club loaded up, Jamison felt his eye twitch and a sneer tug at his lips.

It was a  _ goth _ club.

Oh.

How lovely.


	5. It's Not A Date!

Roadhog was waiting when Jamison got back to the hotel a little before noon. He had their bags stacked beside him, and as soon as the van settled to a halt, he slid open the side panel and started loading up. Jamison didn’t help; he’d tried, in the past, but in the end, he just sort of got in the way. Besides, it was faster if he stayed in the driver’s seat with the engine running, and he was never one to turn down the opportunity to sit and have a smoke.

“You get the vampire?” Roadie asked as he climbed into the passenger seat once the van was loaded up.

“I took care of him, yeah,” Jamison agreed, turning his head to blow smoke out the window, squashing down a pang of guilt for lying to Roadhog. The way he phrased it, it wasn’t _really_ a lie, but it wasn’t nearly the truth, neither, and he knew it.

Before he wallowed too much, or Roadie asked any more questions, Jamison pulled out his cell and thrust it out at Roadhog. “Looked into that Sucker Punch place, by the by.”

All it took was one glance at the screen before Roadhog started grumbling in disapproval, to which Jamison snorted and bobbed his head in agreement. “Yeah, s’what I thought. How much you wanna bet that place is crawling with blood suckers, huh?”

“Wouldn’t bet against it,” Roadhog sighed, handing back the phone. Once Jamison had it tucked back into his pocket and started pulling the van out of the parking lot, he asked, “You planning on scouting it out?”

Scouting was typically a one person job, one Jamison did himself because of how badly Roadhog tended to stick out; guy as big as him was a bit of a sore thumb on a good day. Jamison, on the other hand, had the lean, lanky build treasured by the goth scene. All he needed was some fancying up, a little extra eyeliner, and Bob’s your uncle, they’d be eating him up.

They couldn’t pass over the place, either. Places like Sucker Punch tended to attract fake vampires like flies, which in turn drew in _real_ vampires looking for an easy meal. Picking the real from the fake was never an easy task, but usually there would be a back room for “VIP” members and their guests. All they had to do was wire Jamison up from head to toe with all sorts of fun little spy gadgets, he’d schmooze his way into the back room, and have a little look around.

Okay, so it was just an earpiece, a microphone, and a tiny camera, but it gave Roadhog a way to have a look around without being conspicuous, and they could use the data gathered for a daytime attack.

“Oh, figured I might as well,” Jamison replied, glancing both ways before turning onto the road. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

\---

As it turned out, the worst that could happen was that Zenyatta showed up at the club around the same time Jamison did. He’d barely gotten a drink from the bar and turned around before Jamison found himself staring at Zenyatta with a twisting feeling in his gut, and not just because Roadhog was growling irately in his ear.

The vampire was wearing a black halter top and pants that looked like they were painted on. Gold bangles decorated his wrists and neck, and the studded gold belt around his waist drew attention like a beacon, broadcasting every swish, sway, and tilt of Zenyatta’s hips. And as if he didn’t sparkle enough, instead of hiding his holy water scars beneath makeup like a reasonable person, he highlighted them all with golden glitter, making it look like he’d been splashed by a smelter.

It was sexy. Far sexier than the vampire had any right being. He was supposed to be dorky little loser! Not some… some gorgeous asshole that made Jamison’s heart do annoying fluttery things in his chest.

“I thought you said you killed him,” Roadhog accused, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, which, honestly, was worse than when he raised his voice.

Of course, it didn’t help that he was growling _directly_ into Jamison ear, either.

“Yeah, well…” Jamison shrugged, his voice rising nervously, bobbing his head with the motion. “I didn’t _say_ I killed him, I said I _took care_ of him.”

Muffled swearing came through the earpiece and Jamison cringed, his hands twitching at his side. Oh boy, here it came…

“You gay idiot-!”

“Bisexual idiot, actually!” Jamison quipped, then yanked the earpiece out like it was on fire, giggling quietly to himself and fumbling as he hastily turned it off and stuck it in his pocket. Once it was safely tucked away, he glanced around furtively, biting his lip to hold back his grin. He absolutely deserved the grand chewing out that Roadhog was going to give him for this, he did, and he knew it, he just didn’t need it happening _right now._

Thankfully, no one seemed inclined to pay too much attention to him right now, so he took a deep breath, composed himself, and sulked across the club, slipping smoothly onto the chair across from Zenyatta.

“So what’s this all about, huh?” Jamison asked, pointedly ignoring the way Zenyatta’s face lit up when he realized just who was joining him at the table. “You can’t be asking me out after I tried to kill you.”

“And yet, despite everything, I am still here.” Zenyatta smiled at him, his expression soft as he dropped his chin into his hands. “And you still came. Perhaps you have more faith in me than you want to admit?”

“Thank you for sparing my life today,” he added, ducking his head and flicking his eyes up, a coy smile on his lips. “And I appreciate the rescue, as well. I entirely expected to wake up a shrivelled prune, which as you can imagine, would not bode well for my evening plans.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about, mate,” Jamison looked away, raising his gaze to the ceiling.

“Oh, I see,” Zenyatta laughed quietly, ducking his head with a shrug. “In that case, I will not waste your time with pleasantries.”

“There’s a red curtain behind the DJ booth,” Zenyatta inclined his head in the DJ booth’s direction, pointing with his eyes to the curtain. “You can look if you like, but it might be in your best interest to do so discreetly.”

“Why, there vampires back there?” Jamison asked, casually shifting in his chair so that his body was pointed towards the curtain, leaning his weight on one arm against the table. He didn’t need to take a look himself, but this way, Roadie would be able to take a peek through the camera.

“At the moment?” Zenyatta raised his eyebrows, tilting his head thoughtfully to the side. “Perhaps one or two. I imagine that most of the nest is here, prowling the dance floor and monitoring the club.”

“A nest?” Jamison repeated, his eyes lighting up and breath catching slightly in his throat. A vampire nest could contain anywhere from three to twelve vamps, depending on city population and how personable the blood suckers were. Traditionally, they were made up of a Sire or Dam and their children, but in large cities, they were sometimes made of several vampires with similar points of view. Why, if he and Roadhog could take out a nest…

Well, he’d almost not regret letting Zenyatta live. And Roadhog might not strangle him half to death, either.

“How many are there?”

Zenyatta tilted his head as if he had to think about it, then shrugged. “At least six who live here, although on a night like tonight, it’s hard to say. They come from all over, and not just for-” He paused, waving a hand at the dance floor and bar. “Most vampires are free to use the club to hunt, but there is a special VIP room in the basement where they, well…”

Zenyatta bit his lip, and Jamison frowned, glancing toward the red curtain.

“Let me guess,” Jamison drawled, feeling indignant anger swirl through him. Even though he had accounted for this possibility, even though he’d seen it happen a hundred times, it just burned him up, the way vampires played with humans lives. Sure, humans kept livestock, but well… cows were dumb as fuck, and not sentient, neither. Killed ‘em quick, people did too. There were all kinds of laws in place to minimize suffering. Vampires, on the other hand, liked to draw it out as long as they could. “Posh little place, all velvety cushions and mood lighting and no one bothers to keep the bodies out of sight.”

He had to practically spit out the words, and he took a swig of his drink to wash the taste of them out of his mouth. The beer tasted far less bitter.

Zenyatta nodded solemnly, hunching his shoulders as he poked at a fizzy drink with the straw.

“I…” he started, cringed then took a deep breath and started over. “If it was just the dance floor, I would be… Well, I would be a bit more willing to simply ignore this place’s existence. Those who are fed from here are naive, but willing, and most go home at the end of the night. But there are a number of human kept, young women mostly….”

Jamison’s breath caught in his throat. That particular scenario didn’t come up often, but when it did, “They keep ‘em drained within an inch of death, don’t they?”

Zenyatta nodded again, keeping his eyes downcast, and Jamison tightened his fist, glaring down hard enough he could have burned holes through the table. Should have burned holes. It wouldn’t change nothing, but it’d make him feel better, anyway.

“So why’d you invite me out here, mate?” he asked, taking deep breaths to keep his voice calm and level. This wasn’t Zenyatta’s doing, he reminded himself. Zenyatta looked as nearly upset with the place as he felt. “This supposed to be a date, or what?”

That drew a quiet laugh out of the vampire, and Zenyatta shook his head, lifting it with a small, pained smile. “As lovely as a date sounds - and it does sound lovely...”

He paused, a smirk flashing over his face as he glanced Jamison over. Jamison wasn’t all that interested in fashion - quite frankly, he _hated_ wearing clothes, they were so constricting and got in his way -but luckily, he had Father Gabriel “Edgelord Melodrama” Reyes on his side. Father Reyes had long since hooked him up with a pair of pin-stripe pants and a matching vest, as well as a nice black silk shirt, all perfectly tailored, of course. He looked good tonight, he knew it, and clearly Zenyatta thought so too, if the way his eyes flashed red and eyebrows raised was any indication.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I thought you might like to know about this place. Consider it an offering in exchange for letting me live.”

“You know I shouldn’t do that,” Jamison scowled, picking at the label of his beer bottle, fidgeting. “Doesn’t matter how many nests you think you can lead me to, you can’t be trusted.”

“You let me live this morning,” Zenyatta pointed out, eyebrows raised. “You broke into my apartment, you moved me from the shower, and you went through my underwear drawer, and then you left, taking nothing, leaving things only slightly more disheveled than you found them.”

“Dunno why you think it was me,” Jamison said, putting on his best, most innocent expression. It never worked on Roadie, but hell, Roadie was used to seeing it. “Could’a been anyone. Your door was unlocked.”

“Was it?”

“Mmhm,” Jamison nodded enthusiastically, dropping his chin into his hand and smiling sweet as pie. “Anyone could’a walked right in and done whatever they wanted. You’re lucky nothing unspeakable happened. I locked the door on my way out, by the by. You’re welcome.”

There was a moment of stunned silence from the vampire, his eyes owlishly wide and blinking rapidly, then Zenyatta threw his head back and laughed, wrapping his arms around himself. He laughed for a good long time, until Jamison had to look away and clear his throat, his ears burning red. That was… cute.

Fuck, Roadhog was right, he really was being a gay idiot about this.

“Okay.” He pushed his hand roughly through his hair, then shoved his chair away from the table, pushing himself to his feet. “If we’re done here?”

“Ah….” Zenyatta’s laughter stopped abruptly and he tensed up. After a moment, he glanced down, then back up again, shrugging his shoulders. “I would like to spend more time getting to know you.”

“Yeah, not happening,” Jamison scoffed, shaking his head. He wouldn’t mind getting to know the vamp neither, but, well. One, he shouldn’t, and two, he shouldn’t. There was no other way about it, Zenyatta was a vampire, and killing vampires was Jamison’s job. Being friends with one just wasn’t going to fly.

“In the morning, we’re taking care’a this lot,” he gestured to the club, then brought his arm around to point at Zenyatta. “Then afterwards, I’m coming for you. No hesitation this time, you’re dead.”

Zenyatta sighed in resignation, slumping a little in his chair. “Not even if I provide you with a new location to investigate?”

“Not even then.”

\---

Jamison meant to leave right away, he really did. But halfway across the dance floor, the smell of rotting meat and pungent perfume assaulted his nose. It was followed quickly by a gangly man in a periwinkle suit, his greasy black hair lying limply over one side of his face.

_ Fuck, _ Jamison thought, taking half a step back and repressing the urge to cover his nose.  _ They’ve got a  _ **_ghoul._ **

In the original Arabic myth, ghouls were said to be sired by the Islamic devil, Iblis. According to the French, they were undead humans that lurked in graveyards and cemeteries. Jamison mostly encountered them hanging around vampires, lurking in the shadows and waiting until the vampires were finished with their meal so they could feed on the remains. Regardless of where they came from, ghouls were simply bottom feeders, in Jamison’s opinion, and well-organized nests usually kept one or two around as minions. More reliable than thralls, and there was never much left of a body for police to find.

If vampires were nasty pieces of work, then ghouls were just plain nasty.

“Leaving so soon?” the ghoul asked, smiling obsequiously up at Jamison. The creature’s voice was as oily as his hair, and it made Jamison’s skin feel like it wanted to fall of his bones and slither away as fast as it could go. Between that, and the smell, and the flies buzzing, Jesus Christ, where did those flies come from? Jamison wanted out of this conversation as quickly as possible. 

Before replying,Jamison spared a glanced over at Zenyatta, noting the way the vampire went pale and held a hand over his mouth. Jamison wasn’t sure if Zenyatta just hadn’t gotten the chance to warn him about the ghoul, or if he’d been withholding information, but he certainly seemed concerned.

What he was so concerned about, that was the real head-scratcher, wasn’t it?

“Not really my scene, mate,” Jamison shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets and cocking his hips to the side, doing his best to look casual. Might as well leave Zenyatta out of this for the time being. They could deal with him later. “I’m a bit too punk rock, y’see.”

As ghoul’s eyes raked over his outfit, Jamison wrinkled up his nose, gritting his teeth to repress a shudder. Just being  _ looked _ at by the guy made Jamison’s skin crawl. “You certainly  _ look  _ like this might be your scene…”

“Gotta look the part to get in, don’t I? Look,” he sighed, rolling his eyes and shifting his weight away from the ghoul. “I just came to meet someone. We met, it’s over, so I’m leaving. Ain’t a crime, now, is it?”

“Oh yes!” the ghoul’s face lit up, and he looked over to where Zenyatta sat. Immediately, the vampire looked away, folding his hand on the table and doing his best to look like he wasn’t watching the conversation. Jamison almost laughed. “I saw you talking to dear Zenyatta. It’s strange,” the ghoul cocked his head to the side, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “He’s never invited anyone here before. Why did he invite you?”

Whomp, there it is. Jamison had a feeling that as soon as the ghoul entered his personal space, he was being interrogated, and that, right there, was confirmation. Good thing Jamison was  _ such _ a fabulous actor.

“What, you been stalking me, mate?” he snapped, folding his arms over his chest with a sneer, his head tilted back to look down his nose at the ghoul. “Ain’t none of  _ your _ business, but we had a fling a day or two ago, and he’s having a hard time letting go. I just came by to tell him I’m leavin’ town and he’s just gonna hafta deal.”

“A fling?” the ghoul asked, his overly plucked eyebrows rising straight up into his greasy, gross hair. “Zenyatta?”

“He’s cute, I’m good, what of it?” Jamison shrugged, casually checking his nails. Was his nail polish chipped already? Ugh, he just applied it this morning, he’d have to fix that later.

“But those scars-”

“They were there when I found him. Listen, I don’t know jack from shit about Pretty Boy over there, but,” Jamison leaned in, producing a paisley patterned wallet from thin air. He picked up sleight of hand years ago to make pulling weapons and placing trackers easier, but damn if pickpocketing wasn’t the most satisfying thing. “I’m pretty much done here, so if you don’t mind…”

As the ghoul’s eyes bugged and started patting down his suit, Jamison opened the wallet and pulled out all of the cash. He pocketed the money for himself while the ghoul spluttered indignantly, then handed back the wallet. Hopefully, leaving the bastard thinking Zenyatta’d been seduced by a grifter would throw off any suspicion. Even if he made it out of here without any further trouble, it would be annoying if the vampires had their defences up when it came time to kill them.

Chancing a glance at Zenyatta, Jamison found the vampire was doubled over on the table, fighting hard to contain his laughter behind his hands. Wasn’t fair that a blood sucker could be so cute, but there he was, giving Jamison the warm fuzzies. Emboldened by the con and Zenyatta’s reaction, he sent a wink and blew a kiss in the vampire’s direction, then turned on his heel and swaggered out of the club.

Jamison did NOT swagger into the van where Roadhog was waiting to give him the stink eye, but he did bring an offering of Twinkies, bought with the ghoul’s money at the gas station across the street. Basically free Twinkies were the best kind of Twinkies, really, and Roadhog only glared at him for a whole ten seconds before he snatched the box of snack cakes and tore it open angrily.

“You’re-” he started, but Jamison cut him off with an exaggerated sigh and a wave of his hand.

“A gay idiot, I know, I  _ know. _ ”

“-extremely lucky,” Roadhog grumbled, stuffing an entire Twinkie into his mouth, still giving Jamison a dirty look. Once he finished chewing and swallowed, he grabbed another Twinkie, waving it in Jamison’s direction. “You let that vampire go. You risked hundred of lives. But this is the biggest nest we’ve seen in months.”

Jamison let out a sigh, took off his vest and popped the top few buttons of his shirt, then dropped bonelessly into the van’s passenger seat. Roadhog wasn’t going to kill him; just rake him over the coals a bit. He could live with that.

“He’s pathetic, Roadie, I couldn’t.”

“You’re pathetic,” Roadhog countered, “but it worked out okay. This time.”


	6. In Which There Are Ghouls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY BOYS AND GHOULS AND ESTEEMED MONSTERS, an update, just in time for Halloween! Actually, as older readers may notice, there's been a bit of rearranging going on, and this isn't really a whole new chapter so much as I finished what was originally going to be the full chapter. The beginning section of this chapter was moved back to Chapter 5 because it really fits better there, and I expanded out the end. I think it is Better This Way.
> 
> Anyway, a whole bunch has been added to this section, and a new character introduced, so. Please check it out. Lemme know what you think.

They debated about it, but in the end, they agreed to take the day off. It would throw the ghoul further off their scent, and it would give them a chance to properly plan and prep for their attack. After lunch, Jamison checked his tracker, finding most of the signals still back at Zenyatta’s apartment, but a few were clustered together in an abandoned building not far from the club. So Zenyatta left most of his crap at home, and just brought what he needed for the night.

Roadhog didn’t praise him for bugging Zenyatta so thoroughly, but the grumble and pat on the shoulder was all the validation Jamison needed.

They debated about it, but just before nightfall, they went to the abandoned building to stake every blood sucker they could find. Eight vampires were on the premises, not including Zenyatta, which meant by the time they left, there were eight fewer vampires in the world.

They fought about it, but they left Zenyatta sleeping soundly. In the end, it was the kitsune onesie that won Roadhog over. It’s tail was so long and so fluffy that Zenyatta was able to pull it over his hip and cuddle it, _and_ he’d brought the stupid ninja body pillow with him. Roadhog just about lost his damned mind over it, and it was all he talked about on the drive back to their hotel. Between the pair of them, they agreed that it was hard to take anyone who slept with a sexy body pillow seriously.

Just before bed, Jamison checked his tracker, and he watched the blip that represented Zenyatta wake up and bug out of the abandoned building. Who knew what he thought, waking up to so many corpses, knowing he was deliberately spared? He wondered if Zenyatta mourned the dead vampires, or if he simply felt relieved to be alive.

He checked the tracker again in the morning, in between stuffing his pockets full of explosives and checking his lock-picks for damages. He almost laughed when he realized Zenyatta was back at his apartment, but it was a relief to see that the vampire would be out of the way.

He didn’t want to think about what the relief meant.

They pulled up to Sucker Punch around eleven, their van plastered with electrician labels. They made sure to park in a blind spot in the security camera feed, then Roadhog blocked the view while Junkrat picked the lock on the back door.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“How am I doing it wrong, I’m picking the damn lock, aren’t I?”

“Looks like you’re squinting at a doorknob and wiggling a couple sticks.”

“Cuz that’s how you pick locks! Look, you stick the little sticks inside the keyhole, you wiggle ‘em around a little bit and then bob’s your uncle the door’s open!”

With that, Junkrat stood, opened the door, and they waltzed into the club like they belonged there.

The back door opened up to the back of the club, opposite the DJ booth. A slasher flick played on a large screen that was pulled down over one wall, and in the middle of the room, four ghouls cuddled together amid a pile of pillows.

The ghoul from the night before was the first to notice them walk in, choking on some noodles (or more likely, human flesh processed into the shape of noodles) and getting “sauce” (blood) all over his paisley pajamas.

“Y-you!” he coughed, scrambling gracelessly to his feet. “I knew, I _knew-!”_

“Knew what, mate?” Junkrat chirped, a shark-toothed smile spreading across his face. “We’re just a couple’a electricians, ghoulie, here to make sure the wiring’s right. After all,” he chuckled darkly, ducking his head and throwing his arms out in a shrug. “It’d be a shame for a club this nice to go up in flames.”

With a flick of his wrist, Junkrat pulled a mine from his satchel and slid it across the room, setting it off as it settled amid the scrambling ghouls. The explosion was small and relatively quiet, but it left the floor scorched and sent the ghouls flying in all directions.

“I’ll just leave this lot to you, yeah?” Junkrat asked, turning towards Roadhog.

Roadhog scoffed, the sound muffled by his mask and pulled out his shotgun, already loaded and ready for the fight. He cocked it once, fired it into the back of a ghoul as it picked itself up off the ground, then gave Junkrat a thumbs up. “Light ‘em up.”

Junkrat pulled out his own shotgun and returned Roadhog’s thumbs up with a grin before turning and making his way towards the back.

Now, the back of a club was usually reserved for administrative stuff, right? _Someone_ had to do all the accounting, and they sure as hell weren’t going to do it while getting down on the dancefloor. So it came as little surprise that upon bursting through the door, Junkrat found himself face to face with another ghoul, a nice, proper looking young lady with spectacles and a tight bun, seated at a desk in front of a computer.

Did throw his game off a little bit, though.

“G’day!” he chirped after they had spent a moment staring at each other in confusion. “I’m here ta check the wiring, make sure it’s all up ta code, yanno.”

Junkrat didn’t wait for an answer, just started swaggering through the little office space towards the hallway. As he passed her desk, she started to stand, but Junkrat waved her off. “Nah, nah, it ain’t nothin’ to worry your pretty lil head over, Sheila. Here,” he added, reaching into his satchel and throwing a snap trap in her face. “My credentials!”

She screamed as the metal teeth of the trap sunk into her skin, causing rivulets of brackish blood to drip down her face, her sharp fingernails clawing desperately at the frame of the trap.

“Got another one in here for ya, Roadie!” Junkrat shouted, turning in back just in time to see a meaty hand thrust a thumbs up past the doorframe. Giggling happily, Junkrat threw a thumbs up back, then darted out into the hallway, hanging a left down a flight of stairs. The best place for the vampires to be snoozing was in the basement, after al!

The stairs ended at a nice little reception area; there were some nice plush couches, some nice mood lighting, tasteful paintings of scantily clad women with tasteful amounts of sideboob, plenty of red velvet, you know, the stereotypical sort of thing you expected from goths. This included a scantily clad, pale young man with heavy black eyeliner artfully draped over a couch with an entirely unclad pale young woman artfully draped over him. A wineglass lay on the ground next to them, its former contents artfully spilled and staining the old carpet.

Fucking christ, he hated vampires. They were so pretentious. That carpet wasn’t even that old, he’d seen one just like it online. How’d they even get the wine to spill so _nicely_?

A quick check of the bodies revealed that even if the scantily clad young man wasn’t a vampire, he wasn’t likely to be getting up anytime soon. Poor bastard, looked barely out of high school and everything.

“Real sorry ‘bout that, mate,” Junkrat murmured, pulling a stake from his boot and using his prosthetic hand to drive it through the back of the woman. She convulsed and made a choking sound as the stake went through her body, purplish blood welling up around the stake and dripping down her back. Was she…? She was.

The bloody bitch was even _bleeding_ artfully. Well, didn’t that just take the piss?

From his other boot, Junkrat produced a survival knife, then braced one foot on the body as he determinedly set about sawing the vampire’s head off. Sure, they were going to burn the club to the ground before they left, but it never hurt to be sure.

Well. His nice clean jumpsuit would probably complain if it could talk, considering that it was now soaked in vampire blood, but thankfully, clothes didn’t say jack shit. He would be burning it when this was all said and done, anyway.

When he was finished with his bloody work, Junkrat left the head resting next to wineglass, gave the poor kid dead on the couch one last sorry glance, then made his way through a set of heavy, decorative wooden doors that creaked when he opened them. Ominous. Spooky. They probably fucked with the hinges to get ‘em to do that.

Not that the hallway they lead to need any sort of additional ambiance. It was dimly lit by just a few bare bulbs in cages, and the walls and ceiling were made of dark cement. It was bleak as you please, broken up by ten evenly spaced doors with flaps cut out of the bottoms. Halfway down the hallway, yet another ghoul stood beside a trolley laden with trays, flies buzzing thickly around them.

“How many of you bastards do these assholes _have?_ ” Junkrat asked as he threw his knife into the ghoul, catching them square in the face. “I don’t have _time_ to be dealing with this!” he added as he stepped into the ghoul’s personal space, grabbing their head and turning it sharply to snap its neck. “I got vampires to kill!”

As the body dropped to the ground, a muffled but familiar voice called out, “Jamie?” It took him a second to recall where he’d heard it before, but the addition of “ _Manito_? Is that you?” made it click.

“Olivia? What are you doin’ here?” he asked before slamming himself against the door and pressing his face against it as if that would help him confirm the identity of the person inside. From a few of the other doors, the sounds of life started rustling through the air like a curious whisper. “You’re not supposed to be here, aren’t you supposed be in like… Spain?”

There was a snort that was so loud, Junkrat could hear Olivia rolling her eyes at him. “That was years ago, Jamie, try to keep up.” A sigh, then she added, “I had a job. It went badly. Is Papa here?”

“He’s upstairs,” Junkrat replied just as an appropriately timed thud and scream of agony came drifting down the hallway. “I think he’s having fun. Hey, stand a back a second, would you? I’m gonna bust down the door.”

He gave Olivia a few seconds to get out of the way, taking a couple for himself to work out the best place to damage the structural integrity of the door, then he gave it the boot. It took a couple good kicks before the door gave up on its vertical status and collapsed to the ground, but when it did, it revealed Olivia standing there with her hips cocked, arms crossed over her chest, and an unimpressed smirk on her face.

“Really?” she asked, a little scoff ruining her otherwise perfect deadpan. “I’m pretty sure one of them has a key, you know.”

“I don’t have time to be dealing with that!” Jamie protested, stepping over the door to scoop his older sister into a full body hug. He hadn’t seen her in ages, but there she was, just as small and snarky and glittery and _purple_ as he remembered. She even laughed as her bare feet left the ground and he twirled her around, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

“I missed you,” he added quietly, setting her back down on the ground. With a gentle smile, Olivia cupped his face in her hand, her long nails just starting to prick at his skin.

“Almost did more than that,” she replied, tilting her head and pulling her hair to the side to show off the bandages wrapped around her neck.

Jamie felt the blood drain out of his face as he took them in, realization settling in his stomach like a lead weight. “Did they-?”

“No,” Olivia cut in, shaking her head decisively, a smile flashing over her face as she added, “Would I be awake right now if they did? No,” she continued, a bitter note in her voice as she shook her head again. “We were just food for them. I haven’t been here long, but some of the other girls…”

“Yeah, um, about?” a voice from one of the other rooms broke in, muffled by a thick door and distance. “Like, I really hate to interrupt this touching reunion and all? But these dresses they’ve got us in are really flimsy and I’m really cold and I’m hungry, so if we’re being rescued, can we get with the rescuing?”

At that, Jamie glanced at the sleeveless lavender dress Olivia was wearing, noting that it stopped just short of her knees and really looked much more like a nightie than it did proper clothing.

“It’s a nice dress,” he observed, arching his eyebrows guilelessly, giving Olivia a bit of a shrug.

Olivia laughed and pushed away from Jamie, giving his cheek a couple light slaps as she walked by. “You heard the girl, Jamie. You’re supposed to be rescuing us, so get on it, hero.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for months now. I'm sorry, I know what I want to do with this fic, I know where it's going, but I've been lacking the inspiration to keep working on it. Hopefully, by posting this, I will get over the writer's block and get to the exciting bits.


	7. Scantily Clad and Starving Girls In Need of Rescue

Releasing the prisoners turned out to be a task just as easily done as said, and it was only complicated by the fact that Junkrat spent thirty seconds fussing over a door with his lockpick set. It was, in Olivia’s opinion, thirty seconds too long and with a roll of her eyes and a heavy sigh, she turned to search the ghoul he’d killed earlier. Surprise, surprise, they had the key and Junkrat still didn’t have the door unlocked.

“Really, Jamie?” she asked, holding up her discovery and jangling it at him. “Really? Did you even look?”

“I didn’t have time for that!” he grumbled, glancing up from the lock only to shove the keys out of his face as Olivia jangled them at him again.

“But you have time to play with your lockpicks?”

“Now, see here, alright?” Turning from the door, one hand on his hip, Junkrat shook his head and waggled a finger at Olivia. “If the wretched creature didn’t have the key, then searchin’ ‘em’d be a waste of my time, now, wouldn’t it? But if I go straight to unlockin’ doors, then someone else can do the searchin’ while I- oh fuck me sideways…”

He put put his head in his hand while she jangled the keys at him one more time, taking a deep breath before throwing his hands back in the air. “Alright, fine, whatever! I don’t care anymore! You rescue the prisoners! Be your own hero! I’m gonna go cut some wires and pump the kitchen so full of butane that when this place goes up in flames, it takes at least three neighboring buildings with it! Sheesh!”

Olivia giggled as he stomped past her, hunched nearly double and scowl drooping so intensely it threatened to slide off his face, chirping out a cheerful, “Love you, Jamie!” as she winked and blew him a kiss.

\---

When Junkrat kicked open the kitchen doors, he expected to find another batch of ghouls, so he came with his frag launcher loaded and at the ready. Disappointment set in as he surveyed the surroundings, nothing but sparkling chrome appliances and marble countertops as far as the eye could see.

Then the swinging door swung backwards and smacked him in the face.

“Jamie?” As Junkrat swore a bluestreak, Oliva poked her head into the kitchen, an eyebrow arched inquisitively. “Are you okay in there, manito, or do you need help blowing things up too?”

“No, I don’t need help blowing things up,” Junkrat snapped at her, angrily touching a hand to his nose and displeased to see it come away covered in blood. What was it with doors smashing him in the face and giving him bloody noses all the sudden, that’s what he wanted to know. Junkrat blamed Zenyatta. This all started when that bloody vampire showed up, grumble mumble.

“Look, just focus on clearin’ the buildin’, will ya?” he sighed, shooing Oliva back into the hallway, where a few girls were now standing around, most of them looking drained and exhausted. 

In their midst, a perky futch brunette zipped from scantily clad woman to the next, offering words of comfort and cheer. As Junkrat and Olivia returned to the hallway, she lifted her head and gave them a rueful smile. 

“Cheers, luvs!” she greeted, snapping off a salute like it was an ingrained habit. “I appreciate the rescue, really I do, but d’you think we could get some food before you go and burn this place back to hell where it belongs?”

“It’s just, yanno, with all the blood drinking goin’ on, most’a the girls aren’t doing so well,” she continued on before Junkrat could protest, her eyes darting to a redhead in green, curled up in a ball on the floor just outside of a cell. “And I just think that maybe havin’ something to eat will go a long way towards recovery, yeah?”

“It has been a while since breakfast,” Olivia agreed as Junkrat glanced down at her. When he started to grumble and whine, she reached up to cup his cheek, the corners of her lips curling up in the hint of a smile. “Oh come on, manito. It’ll be hours before the sun goes down. Surely you can spare a bit of time for lunch?”

“Ain’t the vampires I’m worried about,” Junkrat huffed, his shoulders and spine slumping. Sure, an electrician’s van at a dance club made perfect sense, and Junkrat made sure to make their entrance look as innocuous as possible, but well, someone could still call the cops about all the noise…

...Actually, it was pretty quiet now. Junkrat straightened his spine and cocked his head to the side as he listened, eyes looking towards the ceiling. Why weren’t there more gunshots? Junkrat was pretty sure there should be more gunshots. What was Roadhog doing up there?

Just as Junkrat started walking back towards the stairs, a loud bang resounded through the hallway, making everyone jump.

“RAT,” Roadhog rasped from the top of the landing, each step down the stairs landing with a heavy thump. “What is TAKING so long?”

“Ah. Wasn’t worried ‘bout that, neither,” Junkrat muttered to himself, shuffling his feet and sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. Shrugging it off, he took a few steps forward, flinging one arm back towards the ladies.

“Prisoners, Roadie!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards the women as if Roadhog could see him and the prisoners. “They’re bein’ uncooperative and making demands!”

With a shocked, offended gasp at the accusation, the zippy brunette put her hands on her hips and leaned forward as she exclaimed, “Aow, rubbish!”

At the same time, a flat, deadpan “what” dropped from Roadhog’s mouth. It wasn’t a question so much as a statement of exasperation and disbelief. Prisoners? Making demands? What kind of shitshow did Junkrat drag him into this time?

Rolling her eyes and snickering quietly to herself, Olivia reached for Junkrat’s shoulder as she walked by him, her fingertips brushing over his skin as she gave him a nod and a wink. “Here Jamie, why don’t you let me handle this one, okay?”

Without waiting for his response, Olivia rushed forward with a shout of “Papa!”

“Livy?” Roadhog asked, surprise making his voice rise in pitch. Roadhog made it to the bottom of the stairs just as Oliva reached him, her arms outstretched and a genuine smile on her face. As she flung herself into his arms, Roadhog caught her by the waist, scooping her up as he leaned down to press his forehead against hers. “What’re you doing here, girlie?”

For a moment, they simply stood there, eyes closed as they breathed each other in, then Olivia leaned back with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand. “Oh, you know, the usual nonsense. Reyes gets wind of somethin’, wants to make sure it’s worth sending you two in, so I get to do all the dirty work.”

After a pause, her brow furrowed, and she glanced back at Junkrat, lounging in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest. “Wait, you’re both surprised to see me? Here I thought he noticed I was missing and sent you guys to bail me out. I’ve been stuck down here for more than a week.”

With a dark rumble in his voice, Roadhog mumbled, “Didn’t say nothin’ to us.”

“Then how’d you know I was here?” Olivia asked, looking between the pair of them, her eyes widening though she was trying to hide her confusion.

A tension hung in the room as everyone exchanged glances, the possibility that Olivia might not have been found until it was too late if they hadn’t come accidentally across the club hanging unspoken in the air. Silently, Junkrat made a mental note to thank Zenyatta for the tip, even though the vampire couldn’t have possibly known Olivia was there. Or that she was important to Junkrat.

Finally, Junkrat broke the silence, the words “We didn’t,” coming out sharper than he meant. As Olivia frowned at him, Roadhog huffed, snorting half a laugh behind his mask.

“Jamie’s new boyfriend tipped us off,” he said, smugness turning his words into a low chortle. Just like that, the tension was broken and fear gripped Junkrat’s heart as Olivia turned towards him with delight in her eyes, a wide, wicked smile splitting her face. 

“DAD!” Junkrat screeched, his eyes going wide as he spluttered and fell from the doorframe in his haste to protest. “He ain’t my boy- he’s not- just because he’s pretty-!”

“Ohohoho, he’s pretty, is he?” Olivia crowed, her grin going absolutely sharklike as she rubbed her hands together. “What’s his name, Jamie, c’mon, I’ll have all the dirt on him in five minutes, gimme the deets.”

“Livy, he ain’t - !” Hands held up to slow down OIivia’s pursuit, Junkrat took half a step back, cringing away from his grinning menace of a sister. With a deep breath to center himself, Junkrat ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. “Okay, first of all, unless you have any electronic equipment hidden in that delightful negligee of yours-”

Here he paused, squinting one eye at her skeptically and eyeing Oliva’s tiny, nearly see through little nightie critically, causing her to cross her arms over her chest with an annoyed grunt, “-which, doubtful, by the way, you’re not about to be diggin’ anything up about anyone, so jot that down.”

“Jamie…” she growled warningly, taking a menacing step closer.

“No, I mean it!” Jamie threw his hands out protectively, taking a step back into the next room as his voice went shrill. “I am not giving you my cell just so you can look up information on a boy I ain’t hardly interested in.”

Half a beat passed as he glanced over his shoulder, the futch in orange from before all puffed up and ready to open her mouth. Oh god, he was surrounded. Better come up with something, quick!

“Er- there are starving girls out here in need of rescue, maybe we should be doing something about that?” he tired, giving the futch a cautious, questioning smile.

“Thank you!” she shouted, exasperatedly throwing her hands up into the air. “As much as I hate to cut in on this touching family reunion - really,” the sarcasm all but dripped from her voice, “but is a little bit of food for my starving girlfriend really too much to ask?”

“Girls?” If the phrase “starving girls” hadn’t activated Roadhog’s paternal instincts, the futch’s outburst certainly had. In an instant, his huge bulk filled the doorway as he looked around the room, taking in the sight of no less than seven girls in nighties, all of them in various states of poor health. Most of them slouched against the wall, or leaned against each other. One girl, a pale willow creature with long, black hair could even barely lift her head. Olivia and the futch were the liveliest of the bunch by far.

When Roadhog turned to look at him, Junkrat jerked a thumb over his shoulder, half turning back down the hall. “There’s a kitchen down here; ain’t had any time to look over the stock, but the stoves still work. I can take care’a the stiffs, if you wanna cook up a feast.”

“Show me.”

Moving to pick up on of the weaker girls, Junkrat threw a quick, “Follow me!” over his shoulder, then led Roadhog to the kitchen. Between the four who could stand, getting everyone shuffled into the kitchen was a relatively easy, if slightly time consuming task. Once all the girls were shepherded along and seated at a counter, Roadhog had Olivia passing out glasses of orange juice while he and the futch - “Lena Oxton, pleasure to make your acquaintance, luv!” raided the supplies.

It was moments like these that made Junkrat feel good about what they did. Sure, the violence was great fun, and he enjoyed the wonton property destruction, but those were selfish kinds of pleasures. He could get those anywhere, if he really felt like it. This?

Well, he wasn’t gonna TELL anybody he liked being a big damn hero, but fuck, yanno?

ANYWAY, about that violence. There were a catacomb of living corpses in need of descrating right down the hall, and he’d be a Dingo’s breakfast if he wasn’t the one to desecrate them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe this has been sitting around, mostly finished for months now?


End file.
